In Search Of Heaven

By Ata Servati

"Based on the Epic Journey of Howard Baskerville mission to Persia and discovery of the "Garden Of Eden."

Story/adventure/tragedy

in the tradition of Lawrence of Arabia with flavor of "Indiana

Jones.  Surly an Iranian Lawrence of Arabia"

LOGLINE:

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Enlightment Publication
• Release date: Sep 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781088053690

Book preview

Foreword

In retrospect, this story was committed to paper fairly quickly. Actually, it took over thirty years to seriously convince myself that the time was right to finish its telling. My departure from my homeland in 1975 left me yearning for something special, something close to my heart that expressed my political beliefs. I delayed relating the story, a somewhat sad and murky tale, waiting for something, and it seems writing about it was just that something I was waiting for.

I was in preparation for a film project, Dream on Empty, here in Los Angeles, when I was reunited with Abbas Pahlevan at a gathering at my home. It had been quite some time since I had last seen him. He was once the chief editor of the magazine Ferdowsi in Iran. His periodical published an article about me in which I was compared to a Samad Behrangi, a well-known writer/activist who had drowned, in mysterious circumstances, in a river that flowed through the city of Tabriz, the setting of the story before you. I had heard that some of the staff had encountered problems because of the article. And I had avoided Abbas ever since. After all, very few people like going out of their way to get yelled at.

Ironically, he ended up becoming a neighbor of a lifelong friend of mine, Dr. Hassan Kalantary. Imagine my feelings when, after decades of dodging him, he showed up in my very living room. It was a busy gathering, and the house was full. But about two seconds after he saw and recognized me, he wanted to talk to me in private. Feeling that I was about to face some old music, I led him to my office. To my surprise, it was exactly the opposite of what I was expecting.

After I had made sure that he was without horns or fangs, we began conversing seriously. At some point in our conversation, I locked the door to the room. I was going to permit no interruptions from either my girlfriend or my guests until we had finished talking.

He related a truly interesting story about an American missionary named Howard Conklin Baskerville who, about a century ago, went to Iran and tried to reconcile the positive words of his Christian theology with the beliefs of the people there. It all sounded very interesting, enough to persuade me to set my current project aside and look into the story, despite the big financial loss involved.

I found that Howard had a powerful spiritual belief that united all people and transcended religious ideologies. He realized there is either a freedom that all people should share, that freedom being an inherent right to pursue and support righteous leadership in a democratic fashion according to their hearts’ belief, or there is a spiritual dictatorship under which domineering and greedy men demand control because it is God’s will.

Howard managed, through word and deed, to inspire very downtrodden students to think, question and, ultimately, rebel against a terrible and repressive controlling faction that pretended to speak for God. It may sound like a simple story told often throughout history, but the political forces involved here are still very much in effect at the present time.

In 1908, Howard Baskerville realized that all movement toward positive social change had to come from the people. To this end, they had to first learn what was really going on in their country. He addressed the realities of the time, letting the people know that their only hope toward freedom of thought, belief, or deed was to realize that their king and clergy had sold out Iran to the interests of Great Britain and the czar of Russia.

To make a long story short, Howard had to tackle the difficult issue of morality versus reality. At the time, there was a secret plan by England and Russia to divide Iran into Northern and Southern districts, with the English controlling the south and Russians, the north.

By example, through his faith and awareness, Howard created hope among the people in Tabriz and brought them to rally around the national hero of Iran, Sattar Khan, and thereby frustrate the plans of these foreign interests.

I hope Howard’s example will stand as an enduring lesson to young people today: It is through their educated efforts, not outside influences, that the oppressive voices of God expounded by the clergy will be finally silenced.                                                       

After a TV special about the Discovery of the Garden of Eden was aired, my belief became much stronger that it was fate that led Howard to arrive in Tabriz. After many years of in-depth inquiry, after examining numerous documents, biblical references, archeological findings, and various holy texts and sources, the producers of the show had finally concluded that all signs pointed toward the city of Tabriz being the actual Garden of Eden. Next to Tabriz is the city of Urmia or Orumieh (Rezaiyeh, 19261980-) which they concluded, was the home of Adam and Eve.

Some power beyond Howard’s understanding had drawn him into the depths of Persian philosophy and metaphysics. He was amazed to learn that the roots of civilization lay in Persia, within the Zagros Mountains, where human beings had left the mountain and gathered in the valley. That was the beginning of farming and the domestication of animals, which eventually resulted in the creation of villages and then cities. In fact, like the Italians and the Germans, Persians are descended from the Aryans. And one can clearly see the influence of Persian philosophers in later German developments that changed the course of the history of philosophy.

Howard soon realized that the state of mind and the culture of Persians differed dramatically from those of Americans and Europeans. Their spirituality was apparent everywhere. Their most prized possessions were not material goods: they were each other and the land that gave them the resources to survive. Their generosity and understanding of humanity showed Howard and many others that our lives are all equally important.

Perhaps that was why Howard was fascinated and influenced by the philosophy of Cyrus the Great, king of Persia in the fifth century B.C. and author of the world’s first declaration of human rights.

Cyrus spoke often about the importance of human rights. His method of governing was based on the ideal of justice for all. He followed a strict code in his dealings with all the countries that were subject to his rule. This was to create wealth, not plunder resources; to build rather than destroy; to permit freedom of speech; and to give people the chance to live in peace.

Howard would constantly remind his students and revolutionary friends of King Cyrus’s philosophy of human rights. And to his students and others, he liked to read the text of the human rights charter issued by Cyrus the Great in 539 B.C. for the freedom of  nations in Babylon:

"I am Cyrus, King of Kings, Great King, Powerful King, King of Babylon, King of Sumer and Akkad, King of four countries. Son of Kambujieh the Great King, King of Shahan Shahan, grandson of Cyrus the Great - King from the eternal dynasty whose descendants are covered by the affection of Ahura Mazda and whose government is close to the hearts of the people.

When I entered Babylon with tranquility and friendship, I sat on the throne at the palace of Babylon Kings, amidst the joy and happiness of all the people. Marduk (the Chief Babylonian God), whose exaltation I always sought, turned the hearts of the noble people of Babylon towards me. My great army moved peacefully inside the city of Babylon. I let no harm come to the people of this city and the land of Sumer and Akkad. I ordered that all people were free to worship their own God and that atheists not harm them, that none of the houses of the people be destroyed and that nobody deprive the inhabitants of the city of the means of earning their livelihood, that all the Temples in the cities of Babylon, Ashu, Shush, Akkad, and in all the lands situated on the other side of Dejleh, erected in olden times and closed now, to be opened. I returned all the Gods of these Temples to their respective places, to be stationed there always. I also returned the Gods of Sumer and Akkad, brought by Nebonid to Babylon and causing anger in their Palace called ‘Happiness of Heart.’ All the kings living in all the countries of the world, from upper sea to lower sea, and the kings of the west who lived in tents, brought their precious gifts to Babylon, and presented them to me.

In the land of Cyrus, the Great, circa 1907, people faced the usual problems of government oppression, foreign invaders, the defiling of their beliefs, and the pillaging of their lands for resources, expansion, or exploitation.

The principles of freedom, justice, and tolerance that Howard and Sardar believed in, and fought so fiercely for, are under similar attack a century later. During their glory days, Howard, Sardar, and other heroes rose in righteous rebellion against the injustices of not only two powerful external oppressors, the Russian and British empires, but also against the enemies of liberty within their own land.

Sadly, today the internal politics of the country have become an even more severely intricate dance of devils, death, and destruction.

We must remember the heroic acts of Howard and his valiant companions. They did not fight to support an oppressive government or establish one religious’ belief in place of all others. Instead, they courageously laid down their lives in hopes that their countrymen would have the right to govern themselves and practice their religion as guided by God.

Although this particular struggle for freedom occurred in the Mideast a century ago, it›s not that different from what›s occurring in the present. Thus, it is my honor to dedicate this book to all the valiant young people of Iran who continue to strive for the good of their country, who continue to bravely work for peace and justice.

We must remember with respect and appreciation all of those worthy souls who have died, been jailed, or have disappeared without a trace for this cause. I humbly bow to all of you, and pray for your well-being.

May you join the ranks of kindred souls such as Mir Kabeer, Muhammed Mossadegh, Reza Pahlavi I, Sattar Khan, Bagher Khan, Howard Baskerville and so many others who have challenged oppression and injustice in Iran, and may you triumph. It is time for the tolerance, amity and justice envisioned so long ago by Cyrus the Great to come to reality.

From all I hold dear, I thank all my readers. Please refer this book to others so that we may step toward peace and love in this world. I have added character descriptions at the end of the text to make it easier for those who are unfamiliar with Iranian names to follow the story.

Ata Servati

Chapter One

Realities Collide

Everything we love dies. Yet we go on pushing reality away while we grasp for moments of meaning to justify our lives.

New York City, 1949. The Iranian embassy has set up a conference to celebrate Persian literature.

Reza Zadeh Shafagh, a middle-aged Iranian man, is among the speakers at the conference. Reza has an exceptionally broad forehead and a receding hairline, with soft thin curls; this makes him look babyish and sweet. But Reza, who has come all the way from Persia, is feeling heavy-hearted. 

A reflection in a shop window had reminded him of an old friend. Thoughts of the past come swimming back. Reza has come to talk about Saddi, a Persian poet and philosopher.  He is scheduled to be the last speaker at the conference. But now he seems preoccupied with things far from the subject of the conference.

A hotel receptionist brings a note to his room.  After she leaves, he opens the note and reads: 

Dr. Reza Zadeh Shafagh (Hajji Agha)

Dear Dr. Reza,

I was happy to see your name amongst the list of conference speakers. For personal reasons, I cannot see you in person.  I’m watching  from a distance, and it gives me great pleasure and happiness. Oh, I must say you have changed very much, but it’s of no matter.  Because you were one of Howard’s students and best friends, I respect you, and you will always remain dear to me. I will try to leave you more messages.

With great respect,

Helen

Reza rushes out in search of the receptionist. Unshod and breathless, he arrives in the lobby and finds her back at her desk.

Who gave you this note? Would you please point her out to me?  Is she still here?

Sir, there was no lady.  It was a boy.

A boy?

Yes, a young boy! She looks around. I think he’s gone.

A young boy? Would you please check a name for me?  Is there a Helen Wilson registered at this hotel?

She begins to scan her ledger.  Reza takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes his forehead.

I’m afraid not, sir. There is no Helen Wilson on our list. No one by that name.

He can feel the hot Tabriz sun on his cheeks. He is reminded of the old, white, crumbling wall of the Memorial School. His eyes are covered with dust and blood, and the feel of cold metal fills the palm of his hand. Old memories.

He goes back to his room and climbs into bed. Unexpectedly, he sleeps well.

The conference room is packed the next day.  The conference has just got under way. A lecture is already in progress. Reza is among a group of other speakers at the conference.  But his attention is divided: From time to time, he anxiously scans the crowd.

A young man comes up to him and hands him a note.I apologize for interrupting you, sir. But this note is for you. He walks  away. Reza reads the note:

Dear Dr. Reza,

It seems that I have troubled you.  That was not my intention.  It's just that you remind me of my dear Howard. There is a serious reason why I cannot meet with you, and I ask you not to seek me out, but I am watching you very closely. I trust your lecture will be well received.  I will be at the conference tomorrow night to hear your speech.

I wish you only the best,

Helen

Reza hurries after the man who had given him the note, and finally reaches him just before he leaves the room.

Where is the boy who gave you this note?  Show him to me!

The man is taken aback by Reza’s vehemence. Actually, it was a young girl, the one who gave me the note.  It wasn’t a boy.

Is she here?  Can you point her out?

The man looks around, She’s gone, sir. I can’t see her. She’s gone, and he leaves.

Reza looks around and then hurries out. He moves through the hotel lobby, reaches the street, looking for Helen.

Finally, the last day of the conference.  Despite the disturbance of the previous two days, Reza has slept well, too well, in fact. He has overslept. After a hasty toilet and an even hastier breakfast, he hurries into the conference room.  It is the last day.

Are you ready?  You are next, the harassed-looking conference organizer asks. But Reza, distractedly scanning the room, seems not to hear.

This throws the man into a panic.  He grabs Reza’s shirt sleeve. Dr. Reza, are you okay?  You’re next.

Reza looks through him: I cannot talk about Saddi. A brief, tense silence ensues.

Reza continues, I have a new subject to talk about.

Meanwhile, Reza’s introduction is being given: And the final lecture of this conference belongs to Dr. Reza Zadeh Shafagh. He will speak about Saddi, the Iranian poet and philosopher. Ladies and gentlemen, Dr. Reza Zadeh Shafagh!

The room applauds as Reza climbs the steps to the speaker’s dais. For a few moments, he says nothing. He searches the crowd for the familiar, never-forgotten face.

Then, finally,  Reza begins: My friends, I know all of you are here to learn about Saddi. But a set of recent events has made me rethink things. I feel that if I do not first share this with you,  I may do an injustice to a great man. This may well be the only opportunity I have to express my country’s gratitude to an extraordinary human being. A man who came from a small town in Nebraska . . . Tears appear in Reza’s eyes, and his voice cracks, A man called . . .

*      *      *

On a small farm in Nebraska, a family has gathered to celebrate the graduation of their son from Princeton University. The year is 1907, the month May, and the young man’s name is Howard Conklin Baskerville.

Howard Conklin Baskerville

Howard is slightly under six feet tall. His looks are pleasing. He has a mop of thick brown hair, bushy eyebrows and beautiful, full-color eyes.

Just four years earlier he had left the United States Army, after accidentally shooting and killing a horse in a training exercise. As he was staring at the dead horse, everything was frozen for him. Lost in thought, he could not even hear his drill sergeant yelling at the top of his voice.  What, Howard wondered, if I kill a man one day? I cannot handle seeing even a dead horse. Then he recalled his pastor's voice. Jesus came to teach us to love one another, not to hate; to help one another, not to hurt; to heal one another, not to kill.

Later that day Howard sat in a church, quietly staring at a statue of Christ.  The voice of his drill sergeant was sharp in the stillness.

This is why you choose to quit? You would rather pray for your country to be safe than fight for it?  You are one of the best soldiers I have ever seen.  You will rise high in no time, son.  You were born a soldier.

If that is true, Sergeant, then I am a soldier of peace, not war. 'Thou shall not kill . . .'

You are giving up the chance to do something good for yourself and your nation. You have the opportunity to travel all around the word with your unit and see and experience other nations and cultures. Don't throw away your future because of an accident.

It was then that Howard suddenly realizes that his heart's desire lay in peace.  He wants to help people, not kill them. But not just his own people.  He realizes his drill sergeant is right, that he was born a soldier.  But he was born as a soldier of God. He would become